


error bred in the bone

by bruisedfruitforest



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Artist Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes Feels, Kissing, M/M, Period Typical Attitudes, Period-Typical Homophobia, Pre-Captain America: The First Avenger, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-War Bucky Barnes, Protective Bucky Barnes, Romance, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-23
Updated: 2016-05-23
Packaged: 2018-06-10 04:51:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6940579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bruisedfruitforest/pseuds/bruisedfruitforest
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"For the error bred in the bone<br/>Of each woman and each man<br/>Craves what it cannot have<br/>Not universal love<br/>But to be loved alone"<br/>-(W.H Auden)  </p><p>A young man perched on a fire escape somewhere in Brooklyn, and began to do what just about every other able-bodied man with a draft notice in his hand was doing right now- Bucky Barnes began to pray. </p><p>"Please God, I'll sure as hell fight for my country" he implored,<br/>"I'll die for it too, as long as you make sure Steven Grant Rogers is happy."</p>
            </blockquote>





	error bred in the bone

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic on ao3 and my first published fic in a very long time, so please be gentle with me! 
> 
> Here is my take on the last few weeks before Bucky goes off to war, how he deals with the prospect of leaving a weak and sickly Steve, and the near inevitability of his death during the war. Unbeta'ed because reasons, sorry if it's riddled with errors.

The windowsill of Steve and Bucky's apartment was caked with grime, the soft filth of the city outside coming to rest gently on every surface, light peeking through their window in the New York morning. It was just past 5am, and a young man perched on a fire escape somewhere in Brooklyn just outside the window, doing what  every able bodied man with a draft notice in hand had to be doing right now- Bucky Barnes was praying.  
  
Please God, I'll sure as hell fight for my country" he prayed, "I'll die for it too, as long as you make sure Steven Grant Rogers is happy."  
  
A car horn stirred him from his reverie. He looked down to the street below, the young women pushing babies, girls he had gone to school with, played jacks in the street with. When had they become women, fully bloomed? A bicycle bell tinkled as a newspaper boy rode by, tossing papers as he went. Bucky recognized him well enough; it was Harry Schein, the youngest child of the Schein family who ran the local butcher shop. When Bucky was in junior high, they had still referred to the kid as "Baby Harry". Now, he looked as though he was at least 14. "Good," he thought, "Not old enough to get called up." Some of the neighbohood boys, too young to be drafted but old enough to pass for 18, had falsified their enlistment forms and gotten in. In Bucky's mind, it was better for them to stay home, wait it out. Keep the ladies hands and (for the older ones) beds warm while the men were away.  
  
He remembered the day he had gotten his own draft letter. One hand clutching a bag of groceries, he had fumbled with the key to the rusted mail box. There was only one letter inside, addressed to a Mr. James B. Barnes, from the US Selective Service. He had sank to the floor in the drafty hallway of their apartment building, woozy with a feeling he could not place. He leaned his head against the cool brick wall and closed his eyes. No more getting off early at the publishing house, stopping at Maxson's Drugs for a bottle of coke to bring home and share with Steve. How many more times would he save a spot for Steve on the subway, their thighs pressed together side by side as they swayed slightly with the motion of the train, Steve surreptitiously sketching the people of New York on their way to wherever they might be going. How many more of Steve's terrible, cold meals would he eat, arriving home exhausted after Steve was already in bed, listening to him snore softly and worrying over the rattle of his lungs in the cold night air.  
  
Would Steve marry, while he was gone? Maybe Bucky would get a letter in the mail with a tiny black and white snapshot of Steve, looking handsome and earnest in a suit, next to a pretty girl with flowers in her hair, the two of them arm in arm. If that happened, Bucky wouldn't have to come back at all. Steve would be just fine. A few months after the first would be another letter, this one about the hearty meals his young wife made and the baby that was already on the way, to be named after Bucky if it was a boy.  
  
No, no, that was asking too much. Of course, Steve really ought to have a daughter, and name her after Sarah. Yes, a girl, untouched by the hand of war. Thin and lovely like Steve, with a certain rosy-cheeked femininity and vitality imparted by whatever young woman was lucky enough too be his bride. Bucky felt a pang of something that he usually wouldn't let himself feel. Where would Steve work, and how, with his health being what it was? Maybe he could put a word in at the publishing house, and he could take Bucky's position when he left. He could picture Steve waking up early, dressing nice in a necktie and button down, taking the subway to work.  
  
But what about the winters- the nights where he shivered uncontrollably, his hands trembling as he held on tight to Bucky for warmth. Who would be there to help him through his attacks, force him to light up on of the asthma cigarettes he so reviled, wrap him up in a threadbare blanket and boil water for tea to soothe his throat when he coughed. Those things weren't a wife's job, he thought, indignant. That was Bucky's job, his business alone and no one else's. It was a nice fantasy, but he knew in his heart that Steve would not marry while he was overseas. He needed Bucky's help just to get a date, and had never even made time with a dame, let alone gone steady.  
  
If Bucky was honest with himself, he didn't want Steve to wed at all, but to be sequestered away with him somewhere in some light-filled room with huge windows and good heating and all the food he could eat. They could run away, change their names- the Barnes' would be heartbroken, ashamed, but at least they'd be together. Bucky would take 2 jobs, maybe even 3 if he had to, go anywhere, do anything at all other than be apart from Steve. There'd certainly be plenty of work for whatever able bodied men were left in the states. They could make it, if he just tried hard enough.  
  
He looked over the letter again, down to the description of his starting pay as a private in the army. It was good. Better, in fact, than Bucky had made at any job he'd ever had. With his own meals and lodgings paid by the army, he could send his pay home to Steve. Rogers himself had attempted to enlist more than once, each time being  shot down for health reasons. He had described it to Bucky after making his way home, dejected. "Now listen, son" kind old Major O'Reilly, the local recruiting officer and father of one of their mutual childhood friends had said, "I've known you for a long time, and you're a fine young man, intelligent and hard working, and patriotic to boot. But this war is simply no place for someone with such infirmities. We could use a man of your intellect and education, maybe even more than we could use another infantry grunt. Everyone has their part to play, Rogers." The old man cleared his throat, smiling kindly at Steve. "Me, I'm a major, and I help decide which boys enter the service. I certainly won't be on the front lines. I'm sorry son, but you won't be either."  
  
Steve spit off the fire escape after parroting the Major's words back to Bucky, as if disgusted that someone would think him too good to be like the rest of the American boys sent off to die. "I'm not smart, Buck. That's just what they say to all the weaklings who are too flat footed or asthmatic to make it through basic!" he grimaced through the words. Bucky smoothed his hair with one hand, sighing. He stood up, remembering something. "That reminds me, Stevie, you really oughta smoke one of your asthma cigarettes. The airs real bad today, I'd hate to see you have an attack when we're out with the gals tonight." Steve rolled his eyes, but acquiesced, following his best friend back through the window into the apartment.  
  
Bucky stood in front of the kitchen sink, where he had rigged up a tiny, scratched mirror to preen by. There was no bathroom in the apartment itself- they shared the one down the hall with the entire 4th floor. With a mirror, though, at least they had someplace to brush their teeth and shave, or in Bucky's case, style his hair before a night out. Steve opened the window and sat cross legged on the floor with a cigarette and a match. He scraped the wooden stick against the matchbox and it flared to life, and soon so did the tip of the medicated cigarette. Steve choked back a cough. Supposedly, whatever was in this thing would help his lungs, but it felt near as bad as smoking tobacco.  
  
He sat there lost in thought until he heard the familiar scrape of a tin of pomade opening. Steve smiled; he liked watching Bucky fix his hair. Every 3 weeks, he went down to the barbershop and got a trim, and he always parted and combed his hair the same way. Right side part, combed to the left, slicked with pomade and curved just so. He watched Bucky angle the comb to create that enviable wave that the ladies loved cooing over, his tongue poking out of his mouth in concentration. He leaned back, and gave the mirror a winning smile as he tied his tie.  
  
"There. Wanna use the mirror, Stevie?" Steve stubbed out his cigarette and shook  
his head. "I look as good as I ever will."  
  
On the sidewalk they marched through the brisk autumn air, hands stuffed in their pockets as they braced against the wind. "So who exactly are these girls you scared up for us anyhow?" Steve asked, shooting his best friend a glance of uncertainty. "Two sisters. Maureen and Lena Henley. They're a couple years apart, 20 and 22." Bucky rubbed his hands together as they approached the apartment building where the girls lived with the rest of the Henleys. "Think you'll get lucky tonight, Stevie?" The smaller man smirked. "With my luck, she won't even remember my name by the end of the date." He reached up and rang the doorbell. A pretty brunette peered shyly out. "Maureen, Bucky's here!" Steve looked down, hands in his pockets. "Great start."  
  
The door closed, and a moment later both sisters emerged. Lena, the younger one of the two, was taller and blonder than her sister, though the shade was a bit too light to be natural. Maureen was a classic, dark haired Irish beauty- it was clear this one was meant for Bucky. Steve sighed and followed a few steps behind the three, feeling left out. They were going to see the latest Gary Cooper film; the ladies had insisted upon it; afterward, they planned to go dancing.  
  
About halfway through the saccharine romance film, Steve was sinking down uncomfortably in his seat as Maureen and Bucky started necking in the seat next to him. He coughed and excused himself, making a break for it to the theater lobby. He asked the girl at the counter for directions to the restroom, and when he got there he stood and looked at himself in the mirror, wondering what Lena Henley saw when she looked at him.  
  
Not a bad nose, albeit a little crooked from getting punched one too many times. The eyes were fine; a clear, strong blue. His blonde hair laid limply against his forehead, unflatteringly cut at the one of the dirtiest and cheapest barber shops in the city. His frame was small, his shoulders thin and sloping. He looked the way he felt; fragile. He looked down for a moment, as the door of the bathroom swung open.  
  
Suddenly, a pair of arms were around his waist, and warm breath and soft hair brushed his ear. "Was getting lonely without ya, pal." Bucky kissed his neck, inhaling the way he smelled. Steve luxuriated in the feeling for only a moment before coming to his senses. "What's the big idea, Buck?" he hissed, "Anyone could walk in here!" The taller man relented, letting Steve go. "Guess you're right, we gotta keep up appearances for the girls. But don't worry Stevie, you already know I save all my best kisses for you." He pulled Steve back in for a kiss, but found himself pushed away.  
  
"Something the matter?" Bucky said softly, a bit hurt. Steve beckoned him out into the hallway. He said nothing in reply, hurrying back to the theater. Bucky sighed, following his best friend, wishing for about the millionth time that things didn't have to be this way. This thing they had- though they didn't speak of it, they both knew that is absolutely had to be kept private, a secret from the rest of the world. Without really discussing it, Bucky had started setting up double dates for the two of them. Bucky, for his part, made everything just convincing enough. He necked with plenty of the girls, but didn't go all the way. Steve was lucky if a girl held his hand (not that Bucky, jealous by nature, minded). Of course, it made sense that Steve would be jealous too, because he never saw what Bucky did on the nights that he went home with a girl. Kissed, petted, occasionally got to third base with the more daring ladies, but he hadn't fucked anyone but Steve since he was 22. He didn't tell Steve that, of course.  
  
As far as Bucky knew, Steve had still never slept with a woman, and if he ever did have the opportunity, Bucky didn't want to be the reason he didn't take it. He never wanted to deprive Steve of anything, including the possibility of a future with a wife and kids.  
  
Deep down, Bucky knew that he himself would never have that. Throughout their childhood, he and Steve had often stayed up late on the many nights that they slept over at each other's houses, dreaming about the future and discussing what they wanted their adult lives to be like. "We can live next door to each other, Buck!" Steve used to say. "We'll have nice, big backyards, and have cookouts with our gals, and when we have kids, they'll be best friends too!" Bucky had smiled and laughed, but inside he had wondered why exactly it was that two best friends couldn't have their own house together, and be their own kind of family. Kids would be nice, but he would've gladly given all that up if it meant a life spent with Steve.

Steve, though.. He didn't stop wishing for that white picket-fence life, no matter what the two of them did under the cover of night. That was messing around, and Bucky Barnes knew all too well the difference between messing around, and real love.

**Author's Note:**

> come yell at me on tumblr: crystalbucky.tumblr.com
> 
> I'll be updating pretty sporadically until august, as I'm working on a monster fic for the 2016 stucky big bang!


End file.
